


It's Better This Way

by acornsandarrows



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Angst, Death, M/M, Possibly Unrequited Love, Suicide Attempt, general violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-24 07:44:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2573747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acornsandarrows/pseuds/acornsandarrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during the three books (but mainly focusing on the first and third), this is Newt's perspective on some things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Better This Way

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'd  
> also, most dialogue if not all is from the books

He stands above the ground, gazing down. He feels frozen in motion, the ground below him shines wetly and he thinks he might have been standing there for a thousand years, and yet no time at all. He jumps.

His blood pumps through his veins, _please let this be the last time_ , and the ground, Mother Earth reaches up to bring him down into her warm embrace.

(It’s better this way.)

//

He can’t run anymore. It’s like all the things he felt before have been tripled and are now situated directly in his leg. The other watch him limp around, there’s an undertone to their actions, their words. Minho offers to help him, Alby fashions a crutch, Gally yells into the silence no one is allowed to ask him about his leg. Their kindness turns inwards, it buries itself within Newt, reminding him of his uselessness, the pain he caused, continues to cause. He can no longer enter the maze, so instead he tends to the crops.

(It’s better this way.)

//

The greenie makes his unsteady way through the glade. Alby tries to talk to him, ends up sighing in frustration. Newt crosses over to him, slapping him gently on the back of the head.

“Wait for the bloody tour, Alby,” he says. His voice is injected with all the playfulness he can manage. Always speak to greenie’s like you would a startled animal, he thinks. Softly, openly, calmly. The boy leans forward to shake his hand, and Newt sees him begin to relax, just slightly. Until Alby shoves him hard against the tree behind him, that is.

“Alby, lay off a bit.” Newt watches the boy tense up again, his eyes dilating, his breath quickening. Newt feels a strange urge. This kid definitely seems tougher than some, but he’s still scared, still being thrown into this unbearable situation. Newt wants to pull him away, take him somewhere nice and safe. Maybe see what his smile looks like. Learn about his laugh. His plans are cut short by a scream.

“Find Chuckie, tell him he’s in charge of your sleepin’ arrangements.” And then he turns and runs, leaving the greenie at the base of the tree.

(It’s better this way.)

//

“Everything we do – our whole life, Greenie – revolves around the Maze. Every lovin’ second of every lovin’ day we spend in honour of the Maze, tryin’ to solve somethin’ that’s not shown us it has a bloody solution, ya know? And we want to show ya why it’s not to be messed with. Show ya why them buggin’ walls close shut every night. Show ya why you should never, never find your butt out there.”

He gestures for the greenie to take his place at the window, and watches him stare into the Maze. The lights of the Griever reflect on his face, sharpening his features, heightening the fear in his eyes.

“What is that thing?”

“Grievers, we call ‘em,” he says. The name feels like dirt in his mouth.

The greenie turns to him, Newt watches the morning light pool over his face. The urge to protect him returns in the still morning. He’d been in the Glade 48 hours, and his face hadn’t lightened any more than a frown in that whole time. Newt sighs.

“Now you know what bloody lurks in the Maze, my friend. Now you know this isn’t joke time. You’ve been sent to the Glade, Greenie, and we’ll be expecting ya to survive and help us do what we’ve been sent here to do.”

“And what’s that?”

“Find our way out, Greenie. Solve the buggin’ Maze and find our way home.”

The greenie’s eyes widen, he turns back to the Maze and Newt sees a steely determination in the way he holds himself, staring out at the Griever.

(It’s better this way.)

//

His fingers tingle with a strange excitement. The routine’s he’s clung to for the past two years have been suddenly, irrevocably broken, and the box grinds to a halt, doors opening methodically. He braces himself, looking down into the box, and immediately jerks back.

“Holy…” he breathes. Lying in the box is a girl, still as death. The phrase sounds ironic as it runs through Newt’s mind, the girl could possibly be dead. He feels a burning curiosity replace the excitement. As well as the usual questions, who is he (she), how old is he (she), there are others like what does this mean? What’s going to happen now? And what does the other Greenie have to do with this?

He and Alby are lowered into the box and they bring her up, slowly. Newt tries to gentle his fingers as he ties the ropes around her body. She’s pulled from the box, then followed by himself and Alby. He pushes through to the girl’s side, then looks around for the greenie. He spots him, hanging back.

“Greenie, get over here.”

The boy joins him, and Newt can see the way he looks at her. His stomach twists, something changes in Thomas’ face as he stares at the girl.

“She doesn’t look familiar at all,” he says, and Alby opens his mouth, beginning to speak when the girl sits up. She stares straight ahead, breathing heavily, mumbling to herself. Then she says, in a clear, hollow voice,

“Everything is going to change.” She falls back to the ground, unconscious once again. Not dead. Newt can feel his fragile world shattering around him, and yet.

(It’s better this way.)

//

Her name is Teresa. That’s what Tommy says before he bolts away, and Newt finds him hours later, asleep. She wakes up days later, and the first thing she does is seek him out. Newt walks over to them, they converse like two old friends recently rediscovering a shared interest in something. Which, he supposes, they may well be.

She speaks confidently, she gazes around without fear and her dark hair falls down past her sides. She’s beautiful, and from the way she and Thomas hold themselves together and yet apart, Thomas knows it.

(It’s better this way.)

//

The walls don’t close. For the first time in two years, the walls don’t close, and Newt feels it continue the slow eroding of his life as he knows it. _Maybe I’ll die tonight_ , he thinks, and he can hear the Grievers ransacking the Homestead. _Maybe I’ll die tonight_. He dreams of a cool grey horizon where there is no future and there is no past. He thinks maybe

(It’s better this way.)

//

He’d almost forgotten about the whole telepathy thing. But no, Thomas and Teresa can still speak to each other in their minds. Wonderful.

Thomas slowly straightens, his face pale and drawn. Newt wonders if he would ever look as anguished because of him. Then he waves the thought away. Teresa is something else to Thomas, just as Thomas is to Teresa.

(It’s better this way.)

//

Moments of peace are rare. Newt looks down at Thomas’ sleeping form and is struck by two things. One, how quickly he got used to waking his sleeping friend, and two how tired the other looks. Thomas’ eyelashes brush the ashy circles beneath his eyes, and he mumbles something under his breath.

A second later, Thomas rolls over, and rubs at his eyes.

“Glad to see you still know how to take a nap.”

It takes a strange weight off Newt’s chest to be able to just talk with his friend like this, to laugh even a little bit. Thomas grins up at him.

“As long as no Grievers suddenly show up, we’ll be good.”

“Please, man. Careful what you buggin’ wish for. Maybe they’ll send something worse.”

Thomas’ smile falters, and he quickly covers it up with, “Who’s the cheerful one now?”

They exchange parting words, and Newt walks away, leaving Thomas to no doubt brood over Teresa’s disappearance again. He sincerely hopes they find her again, at least for Thomas’ sake.

(It’s better this way.)

//

There is something in his mind. It’s almost as if he’s no longer alone up there, now there’s someone else who sometimes controls his body, someone else telling his arms to move, his heart to pump, while he sits in a corner of his own mind and watches. And he likes it.

That’s maybe the worst thing. He doesn’t hate this new thing, this new him. He likes it, loves it in fact because when the other Newt is in charge he gets to close his eyes, to rest. He doesn’t have to think or feel, he doesn’t have to do, well, anything. He buries the feeling deep inside, covers it with shame and fear and pain, he must not let the others see. Anyway, the people told them they were immune, so this is something else. His own special brand of it, maybe.

And then the rat man is standing before them all, calling out the names of those who are not immune, and he knows. He _knows_.

“Newt.”

(It’s better this way.)

//

Thomas’ reaction is the worst. It means Newt has to keep trying, keep clinging to the edges of his mind, when all he wants to do is sleep. The boy doubles over and it hurts like someone’s scraping his insides.

“Slim yourself,” he says quietly, watching the other. _Don’t make this harder than it has to be_. Thomas cracks a joke, and Newt watches him crack in turn.

(It’s better this way.)

//

They leave him behind. Of course they do, he’s got the bloody flare. Thomas gives him a look before he leaves, his arms twitch at his sides, but in the end Newt turns away before he can do anything. He doesn’t blame them for leaving when it’s him in charge. But when it’s the other guy in charge, he lies on the floor and screams. It’s not what it used to be, he’s no longer sitting quietly in the back of his own mind, it hurts now. He doesn’t like it. ( _Tommy how could you leave me like this I trusted you, I trusted you._ )

The other cranks find him, they board the berg.

“You’re one of us, you belong with us.”

He wants to argue. _I’m not one of you, he thinks, I’m not a monster_. He stares down at his hands, watching them shake.

“Can I write my friends a goodbye note?” he asks.

(It’s better this way.)

//

He doesn’t want to see Minho. He doesn’t want Minho to see him like this, either. And Thomas…

They walk towards him like he’s a bomb and they don’t want to set him off. Well they’re right. He is a bomb. And if going off is the way to get them to leave, that’s what he’ll do.

“And you, Tommy,” he says quietly, “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming here and asking me to leave with you. A lot of bloody nerve. The sight of you makes me sick”

He sees the hurt in Thomas’ face, a sense of satisfaction twists his gut and makes him want to curl up. Or run to the boy and stroke his face, whisper apologies.

But he doesn’t. He feels his lungs fill with air and then he exhales and it rushes back into the room, over and over. Keeping him alive. Doing exactly that which he’d asked Thomas to end forever. His eyes harden.

And then he breathes again, and it flows out of him. He sags gently, eyes downcast, the launcher hanging limply. He’s too tired for this.

“No! No more talking from you. Just … please. Please leave. I’m begging you.”

The seconds slide past, his mind darkens slowly as they dawdle, painfully. He watches them, sees them stalling. Everything is choking him, he feels it build in his chest and press on his lungs, he can see the pain in his friends faces and he doesn’t want to be the cause of it, he never wants to see them look this hurt again, so he steps closer.

“I’m going to shoot if you don’t go. Now.”

He’s lucky they leave, really, because he wouldn’t be able to get a clear shot anyway. The tears make it too hard to see.

(It’s better this way.)

//

This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. He’s said his goodbyes, he’s almost completely allowed his mind to leave him, almost completely given control over to the other guy. He’s not supposed to ever see Thomas ever again. He doesn’t want to see Thomas ever again.

Newt watches the van pass, and his chest constricts. Maybe now Thomas is gone from his life, for good. Except the van stops, and he sees Thomas get out.

“Hey. Newt. It’s me, Thomas. You still remember me, right?”

He wants to laugh.

“I bloody remember you, Tommy. You just came to see me at the Palace, rubbed it in that you ignored my note. I can’t go completely crazy in a few days.”

The hurt that flashes across Thomas’ face registers in Newt ten-fold. He can feel it in the back of his neck, it aches in his bones. He’s so close to the edge now.

“I should rip your eyes out,” he says, and his voice is injected with everything he’s felt in the past few days. He needs Thomas to understand that he can’t come with him, that’s not how it works, he’s a shucking monster and Thomas needs to stay the bloody hell away from him.

“I tried to kill myself in the Maze. Climbed halfway up one of those bloody walls and jumped right off. Alby found me and dragged me back to the Glade right before the Doors closed. I hated the place, Tommy. I hated every second of every day. And it was all … your … fault!”

Suddenly there’s a gun pressed to his temple, and Newt can feel Thomas’ hand shaking under his.

“Now make amends! Kill me before I become one of those cannibal monsters! Kill me! I trusted you with the note! No one else. Now do it!”

Thomas’ face wet is wet with tears.

“I can’t, Newt, I can’t.”

Newt wants to scream, he shakes with fury, and the cool metal against his head is taunting. He takes one last look at Thomas’ terrified, beautiful face, and something in him mends, if only for a second.

“Please, Tommy. Please.”

Thomas pulls the trigger.

(It’s better this way.)

**Author's Note:**

> i skipped a lot of the second book, sorry if that made it weird.


End file.
